


Comfort Food at 3am

by Taarbas



Series: Surfacers [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon Divergance, Crushes, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, I honestly don't know how people tag his name or designation so ill tag both, emotions how do you handle em?, kind of more like a little possible lore bending, short fic, subtle crushes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 00:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6542572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taarbas/pseuds/Taarbas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>X6 wakes up to what he assumes is an intruder. Turns out Tracy just can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Food at 3am

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my first shot at Fallout fanfic, and specifically X6. Please please let me know if you find him out of character, I'm working at it and I'd like to better myself to make sure I don't mischaracterize him!

Upon coming to Sanctuary, X6 tended to sleep from roughly 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. with little variance in his schedule. He also didn’t just wake up in the dead of night, staring up at the ceiling and sweating from a nightmare he couldn’t even remember. Normally, he didn’t dream. The phenomenon had started upon him coming to Sanctuary, and any attempts to report it to Tracy had been met with delight. He hadn’t told her about the nightmares. She couldn’t think he was weak. He was halfway through cursing himself out for ruining a night’s sleep over a stupid dream when he heard faint noises coming from somewhere in the settlement. They were too faint to be in his little home. Turning over, he peered out the window, wondering if it was just MacCready and Deacon screwing around again. However, instead of the sight of two morons doing something equally stupid, he was met with a shadowy figure standing in Tracy’s kitchen. Jumping up, he grabbed his rifle, silently padding out of his room and across the street. There was no doubt it was raiders, or gunners, or something even worse. He remembered the Deathclaw who had snuck in once, goring Tracy and a few other settlers before he and Preston managed to take it down. X6 had been consumed with guilt, never far from Tracy’s bedside as she recovered. She kept insisting it was fine, and his insistence that it wasn’t seemed to amuse her. He didn’t understand then, and he didn’t know. 

Peering around the corner, he brought his rifle up, ready to take aim and fire at a moment’s notice. Whoever it was they weren’t too concerned with being quiet, which disturbed him the most. A few rooms down, Tracy slept. Surely, the noise would have woke her...unless whoever the intruder was had slit her throat. Blind rage mixed with an emotion he couldn’t place crept up his throat, tightening his jaw as he stepped around the corner and brought his rifle up. The occupant yelped, dropping a metal bowl on the floor and dancing away with their hands up. “X! X it’s just me!” They gasped, fear making their eyes go wide. He froze, finger hovering over the trigger. Tracy was standing there in a pair of pants way too big for her, her hands raised to her shoulders. “Sweetheart, doll, it’s just me. Tracy,” She whispered, slowly lowering her hands and stepping towards him as if he were a skittish Raddoe. He lowered the rifle, peering down at her in confusion. 

“Where’s your shirt, ma’am?” Okay, maybe not the best thing to say after threatening to shoot your director at three in the morning. She gawked at him, looking between his face and down at her bare chest. 

“I...I usually sleep like this,” She said lamely. “Why did you bust in here looking to kill someone?” She didn’t sound hostile, or even irritated. Just curious. He didn’t understand, she should be angry with him. He’d disturbed her, threatened her, hell nearly given her a heart attack. And now he was standing there like an idiot and trying desperately to not look at her abdomen. He’d never seen her in anything less that her vault suit. 

“I saw someone in your kitchen, ma’am. I thought it might be a raider or some other scum of the surface,” He explained, mentally scrambling for what to do in a situation like this. The Institute didn’t really consider what might happen if a Courser were to misread a situation and create a horrible, awkward scenario. A part of him wanted to ask what she was doing up this late, but he knew better than to question a superior, and he’d already done enough for the night. There was no need to dig himself a deeper grave. The tension in Tracy left with a laugh as she bent at the waist to pick up the bowl she had dropped. 

“Got it. Well, thank you for that. Nice to know I’ve got someone lookin’ out for me,” She smirked, her lips looking fuller without her usual dark lipstick. Setting the bowl on the counter, she casually leaned against it, cocking her head. “What’re you doing up this late?” 

“I heard a noise,” He lied, flinching inwardly as he did so. He wasn’t programmed to lie, wasn’t programmed to have a sense of shame over anything other than failing an order or expectation. He didn’t know how to handle any of this. He didn’t  _ want _ to handle any of this. Any attempt to tell Tracy to have him wiped had been met with flat out refusal. Never hostility, never even an air of consideration. Just flat out refusal. The first time he had asked she had looked at him with such disappointment he had nearly teared up. He still wasn’t sure what he did wrong, and was frankly too afraid to ask. She didn’t seem to catch the lie, nodding silently before dragging out a bag of Razorgrain flour. Her and a few settlers had spent hours pouring over a schematic for a mill, slowly piecing it together. With how excited they had acted, he had thought it was some kind of advanced defense mechanism. In short, it wasn’t. It simply ground up the Razorgrain to a fine powder, which apparently they could use to make things. Surface food still confused him. Silently he wondered what she was doing, not even daring to think of asking her. Synths did not question their human leaders. It wasn’t right. 

“You sure? You look a little shook up,” And there it was again. That strange tone. Gentle, almost shaky. She used it when people got hurt, or when someone was telling a story of something they had done. Often, he found, she used it around him, particularly if he had brought up being wiped or his distaste for the Railroad and their foolish ideals. X6 still wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

“I almost harmed you, ma’am. I would have failed you and the Institute,” He replied, finally setting the rifle on the counter. He didn’t want to make her nervous by keeping it in his hands. She shrugged, muttering what sounded like an “it doesn’t matter” as she measured out the flour. 

“You sure that’s the only reason you’re shook up? Somebody bother you?  _ Something _ bothering you?” She arched a brow and watched him out of the corner of her eye, mixing the flour in with whatever else she had in the bowl that hadn’t been dropped. When he didn’t answer, she continued. “I know you’re unsure, and I get it. You’re a fish out of water out here, you don’t understand us surfacers and we don’t understand you. Just, you can talk to me, okay? I don’t care if you think you’ll get in trouble, I promise I won’t lord it over you. Please just let me know if something’s up,” She turned away from her work, wiping flour on her pants as she looked up at him, eyebrows drawn up and together. Guilt twisted in his chest. She worried about him. He didn’t know why, he was a synth, disposable. There were a million just like him. Hell, the Institute could probably make another one of him in the time it took him to take his last breath. If something happened to her, the Institute went with her. 

“What are you doing, ma’am?” He asked in order to avoid her question. He hoped it would cause her to drop the subject, or prompt her to get angry with him and order him to leave. She sighed, shoulder slumping in defeat as she turned back to the bowls. 

“Baking. I can’t sleep, and I want something sweet. I figured since we can make flour now, and a lot of my baking supplies were still scattered through the house, I could attempt something. You’re more than welcome to stay in here if you want. Just hang out ya know? I don’t mind the company,” Though he’d never admit it, the thought of staying alone still unnerved him, especially after dreaming. Whether a good or bad one, the act still made his skin crawl. He nodded, silently watching her move about the room. It was awkward for him to just stand there, but he knew what would happen if he tried to help. He knew nothing of this activity, and he wouldn’t ruin it for her just to satisfy some desire to be active. “You wanna help? You don’t have to, just figured you might be curious,” Tracy smiled, warmth radiating from her face. “No pressure. You’re more than welcome to just chill,” 

“I can help to the best of my ability, ma’am. I have no knowledge of this particular skill,” The way her face brightened you would think he’d announced he was a master who knew wonderful tricks to the process, not that he had admitted complete and total ignorance on the subject. 

“C’mere, I’ll show you. It’s easier than it looks, trust me,” Without hesitation she grabbed his hand, tugging him over and next to her before starting up a string of information. “This is a whisk,” She said, holding up a metal object composed of little wires. “It’s used to stir stuff together, like this,” She demonstrated before handing it to him, slipping to the side to let him attempt. He didn’t think it had to be hard, and was almost insulted that she would insinuate she had to walk him through everything as slow as one would a child. However, his first attempt only managed to get flour everywhere, dusting his hands and clothes as Tracy snorted and giggled, grinning up at him. “No no,” She said between giggles, grabbing his wrist with one hand and holding the rim of the bowl with the other. “Like this,”  

She ended up having to do things like that a lot throughout the process, stopping him and calmly correcting him when he made mistakes and pausing to explain things to him. It took a while, but eventually the two were sitting on the floor together, their backs against the warm oven door. He had to admit, Tracy had turned an old, bombed out neighborhood into a completely livable, high tech by the surface standards home. The thought made his chest fill with something akin to pride, though he wasn’t sure why. “You ever had a brownie?” She asked, dusting some stray flour off her arm. He shook his head, admitting that he had no idea what she just asked him. She grinned. “It’s what we made. Trust me, they’re good. I use to make them all the time, before the war. I think it’s what I miss most, being able to bake,” She sighed wistfully, drawing her legs up to her chest. Without the suit, X6 could see multiple scars, several shades lighter or darker than her skin. Some were smooth with age, while others were still puckered and raised. Her body was just as marked as her face, he noted. “What do you miss most? About the Institute?” Her question was so quiet, he wasn’t sure she had even asked. However, when that slight glimmer of hope left her eye, he realized he hadn’t dreamt it, and scrambled to answer. 

“The cleanliness,” It was a little too quick, a little too brusque, but she nodded anyway. 

“Can’t say I blame ya. Not exactly Martha Stewart worthy up here,” He didn’t know who or what a Martha Stewart was, but judging by her sigh, it meant cleanliness. “Is there anything you like better up here?” On impulse, he moved to reply with his usual spiel on how the Institute was the future and the Commonwealth was dying, but he found himself stopping short. 

“The sky, ma’am. At night, it looks different every night,” He reluctantly parted with that bit of information, watching her face for a reaction. A sad smile flitted across her face. 

“I love the stars. Wanted to be an astronomer when I was a kid. Was too stupid though,” She laughed, shaking her head. “Anyway, they should be done by now,” She turned, sitting up on her knees and peering into the oven. “Hand me that red cloth?” Once the door opened, a pleasant smell filled the room, sugar and something he couldn’t name. It was in the snack cakes he and many of the other synths were so partial to, but no one ever bothered to tell them the name. “Just gotta wait for em to cool off for a bit. Wanna go outside?” The question took him off guard, and for a moment, he stood in silence, staring at the pan. 

“Very well, ma’am,” She took his hand again, a habit he had noticed shortly after arriving at the Settlement, and led him out a side door. Cool air hit him, raising the skin on his arms. He shivered, still not used to the cold and already regretting leaving the warmth of the kitchen. Tracy, however, simply smiled, her skin smooth  as she stretched. She had a bad scar down her side, starting just under her first rib and running to her hipbone. She also had dark hair under her arms and on her stomach as well as on her arms. From what he had seen of the woman in the Institute, they lacked this hair. He wondered if it was a birth defect, and if it would be rude to ask. X6’s eyes made their way back to her face, which was tilted upwards. He followed her gaze, staring at the night sky. The moon was full, casting a pale glow across the settlement. In the distance, he could just barely make out someone on patrol, most likely Preston. 

“There’s the big dipper,” She whispered, pointing up. He frowned, staring where she pointed. He didn’t see anything. “There’s the handle,” She explained patiently, drawing her finger down. “And the cup. It’s a constellation,” He had heard of those, but had never seen one before. Slowly, his mind put together the pieces, revealing something akin to a pot. “Do you see it?” Her voice was low, giddy. He nodded, and she squeezed his hand. “There’s so many of them. Probably more that I never got to see before the war, names lost to time and everything. Here, there’s Polaris…” Soon, he forgot the chill in the air, and how destroyed the other building’s appeared. Soon, he even forgot he wasn’t her equal. They were just two people, standing out on a porch and looking at stars while something cooled in the kitchen. X6 hoped he’d dream of it sometime. 


End file.
